Conloquor
by Shade Embry
Summary: Krycek baits Doggett's old partner and sends her and the X-Files on a manhunt. Part 1 of 2.


TITLE: Conloquor  
AUTHOR: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick  
E-MAIL: baltimorelt@yahoo.com  
SPOILERS: Existence  
RATING: PG for language  
CATEGORY: Case File, new character, Doggett, Mulder  
and Krycek-heavy  
SUMMARY: Set after the events of my fan fics "Hold On"  
and "Sacrifical Angel." Stark returns to the scene of  
the shooting and gets an unpleasant surprise while she  
ruminates, forcing her to investigate what everyone  
else believes is the truth. This is my humble (and  
hopefully sensible) attempt to un-murder Krycek.  
DISCLAIMER: All nonoriginal content belongs to Chris  
Carter, 1013, and FOX. Agent Stark Patrick and all new  
content/ideas et cetera belong to me and I'm proud of  
it. Archive's okay, with my permission.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: In case you don't speak Latin,  
Conloquor is Latin for "to speak." And if some of this  
makes no sense, you either need to read more of this  
or some of the other stories in the Napoleon's Battle  
Plan series. I apologize for nothing. Well, that's not  
true, I apologize for some of the things. Not all of  
the things. I apologize for about half the things that  
make no sense in this fanfic. ("Sports Night" fans,  
give yourself a pat on the back if you recognized that  
paraphrase from 'Intellectual Property.')  
  
  
This morning feels like yesterday  
Yesterday follows me around  
Standing on the outside looking in  
Funny how you see the truth  
But the feeling does come back to you  
Standing on the outside looking in  
State of grace, state of sin  
Standing on the outside looking in  
I cannot feel a single thing  
But the feeling does come back again...  
- Sheryl Crow, "On The Outside"  
  
Special Agent Stark Patrick leaned against the pylon  
in the parking garage and looked out at her  
surroundings, all the parked cars, the silent  
concrete. Just feet away she could see the scars in  
the concrete that represented her bitterest memory.  
The one she hadn't even really been conscious enough  
to remember. It was silent now, and she reached up  
under her collar to run her fingers across the scar  
that she'd earned. A jolt of the familiar sensation  
ran through her veins and she remembered the initial  
pain, after which she'd collapsed in her partner's  
arms and blacked out, only to find herself in the  
Deputy Director's bedroom with an IV hooked up to her  
and her partner crying himself a river.  
  
It didn't make sense to her, either.  
  
They'd all been trying to protect Scully's baby, and  
had beaten Billy Miles to the car by barely seconds.  
She still remembered catching her breath as the  
Chrysler skidded out of the garage with Agent Reyes at  
the wheel, Scully safely inside. Remembered her heart  
racing as she looked at John and A.D. Skinner and  
Mulder and silently affirmed that they had indeed come  
out on top. Or so they thought. Later that same early  
morning, or whenever it was, they had been down in the  
garage en route to covering their final bases when  
Alex Krycek had pointed a gun at her and proceeded to  
shoot her. She had faced liquid metal killing machines  
and survived but she wasn't so lucky. She remembered  
bleeding over the pavement, all over John, before she  
heard a second gunshot and then lost consciousness.  
  
According to John, he'd shot Krycek, then they'd -  
they meaning the two of them, Skinner, Mulder and  
Ratboy himself - hauled ass to the domicile of Deputy  
Director Kara Exstead where emergency care had taken  
place. She had apparently been left there because  
Krycek was dead and Skinner had shot him in the same  
garage. This garage was getting to be a hot zone for  
bullets and blood, she decided, looking down and  
shaking her head. No one had been able to tell her the  
full story of what had gone down and she had wondered  
if the shoot was clean. The man had shot her and she  
should have been happy. But as an officer of the law  
and a woman of honor she had to ask herself if it was  
right. And the facts said that it was. Skinner had  
shot Krycek to avoid Krycek's killing Mulder.  
Justifiable homicide, the books called it. But still,  
there was this sense - her infamous sixth sense as a  
matter of fact - that something was incongruous.  
  
She could imagine John right now, still upstairs over  
the other files currently pending investigation. He  
knew that she'd left to go to her car, and in a few  
minutes he'd probably set down the Billie Tasker file  
and come looking for her. But that was another time,  
minutes into the future. Right now she had only  
herself and cold concrete and half-memories of what  
was.  
  
"Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself.  
  
"I'm afraid he's not in right now," another voice  
said.  
  
Stark's head shot up and John's name caught in her  
throat. It was the first one that formed on her lips  
but she stopped it this time. She had a talent for  
recognizing voices and that was not John's voice. It  
was something else. It all fell into place as she saw  
his face again as he appeared. It lacked the decisive  
egotistical flair of that first encounter, the frost  
in his eyes that had been cold and dead. She should  
have hurt him but she didn't want to. She accepted  
blood loss as the job. And he was supposed to be dead  
to begin with. That was enough of a mystery.  
  
"Krycek," she said his name slowly, emotionlessly.  
  
"Agent Patrick." She was surprised he hid whatever he  
was feeling or thinking so well. "You've recovered  
nicely."  
  
She nodded. "You didn't as far as I was told."  
  
He laughed, a short, dry sardonic sound. "There are  
always surprises."  
  
"Yes, there are." She'd learned that much from the  
X-Files. "Such as, why are you here? Pissed off that  
you missed, or..."  
  
"Hardly." He smirked. "I wanted to see you in the  
flesh. I had heard, of course, that you'd survived,  
but that's not the same as seeing it. And I believe I  
owe you."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For giving me the benefit of the doubt. Considering  
the company you keep, I would have expected that you  
would have written me off, but I was pleasantly  
surprised." He paused. "Scully, Mulder, Skinner,  
Doggett - they didn't tell you the stories about me?"  
  
"Oh, they told me." She shook her head. "I chose to  
wait and see." Then she fixed him with a look, "That  
was a mistake."  
  
"Was it?" he said evenly.  
  
Her gaze turned hard. "Don't play this with me,  
Krycek. You shot me. I should walk away right now, not  
to mention I don't know how I'm talking to a dead  
man."  
  
"I'm not dead," he said, stating the obvious with that  
same flat tone of fake indifference.  
  
"Mulder saw you die," she corrected firmly.  
  
"He's lying," Krycek insisted.  
  
"Is he?" she said. She wondered what was going on  
behind those dark eyes, what processes of thought,  
what feelings, what ideas. If Krycek was some sort of  
alien replicant or something and had been resurrected.  
One could not have a conversation with the person who  
had shot them and not wonder that, and looking at that  
face that was so easily deceptive, she wondered that  
very much.  
  
Krycek laughed at her serious comment and reached into  
his jacket. Stark's hand instantly went to her gun,  
and stayed there even as he produced a small minidisc  
and held it out to her, saying simply, "This will tell  
you all you need to know." Then he turned and walked  
away, "I'll be in touch, Agent Patrick. And for what  
it's worth ... I'm sorry." He actually sounded like he  
meant it, but she figured he couldn't possibly mean  
it.  
  
She watched him go in disbelief. She should have done  
anything but that, but the conflict within her that  
she had hidden had bubbled up with his appearance and  
she was too numb to do anything. She could barely  
believe she held the minidisc, but it was cold and  
thin in her hand. The physical evidence supported no  
other possibility than that which she wanted to deny.  
From behind her, the elevator bell dinged and the  
doors parted. She could hear her partner's approach  
sounding on the concrete, "Stark, you okay?"  
  
She slipped the minidisc into her jacket, "I'm fine."  
  
  
********  
  
  
"You want me to wait for you?"  
  
"Hmmm?" Stark looked up from her computer where she'd  
been earnestly typing for the last hour. John smirked  
from his desk, where he was putting the last of his  
things together. "I said, you want me to wait for you?  
I'm heading out for the night."  
  
"I'm going to be about ten more minutes," she said,  
looking briefly at the screen even though she didn't  
really care about that particular report which was  
displayed.  
  
He nodded. "I can wait."  
  
"You're sure?" she said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"What am I gonna do, go home and watch CNN?" he  
quipped. They shared a smile and he stood, fingering  
his car keys. "I'll be down in the garage. Take your  
time."  
  
"Okay," she called after him. The door clicked shut  
behind her partner.  
  
As soon as John had left, Stark felt for the minidisc  
in the pocket of her jacket, which hung on the back of  
her chair. It felt almost alien. After all, she'd  
received it from a dead man. But she was curious and a  
doubting cop - a bad combination in situations like  
this. She popped the disk into her CD-ROM drive and  
found herself staring at a file directory the likes of  
which she hadn't seen before. It all appeared to be  
things pertinent to recent events in the office. She  
clicked on one  
file and noted that it had something to do with the  
shootings. Pausing a moment as she thought about what  
to do, she finally found an idea and opened a desk  
drawer. Copying the contents of the minidisc to a zip  
disk, she put both the original and the new copy into  
her backpack, grabbed her own belongings and headed  
for the door.   
  
She didn't know what she was getting into. Maybe the  
Lone Gunmen would. Either way, she didn't want this.  
Not tonight. She wanted to go home, so she turned out  
the lights in the basement office and started on her  
way there.  
  
  
********  
  
  
Stark met John in the parking garage eight minutes  
from when he had left and slid into the passenger seat  
of the truck. He swung it out into the D.C. night. The  
radio was silent, the temperature optimal, and the  
normally verbose Special Agents were oddly manipulated  
into silence.  
  
"John?" she started.  
  
He glanced over at her, "Yeah?"  
  
"What if Krycek wasn't dead?"  
  
Her partner raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"  
  
She looked at him then, took in the concern and  
confusion and conflicting emotions on his face. "I  
mean what if Assistant Director Skinner didn't kill  
him. Maybe just wounded him or something."  
  
"I wasn't there, but I'm pretty sure he hit him," John  
said. "What's on your mind?"  
  
"I was wondering," she admitted. "If he really was  
dead. I was thinking that ... that would tell me  
everything I need to know."  
  
He nodded with a base understanding of what she was  
after but not of the veiled ideas in her mind. "In  
this line of work, it rarely does," he said quietly.  
  
They drove on. She studied his face, the flickering of  
those blue eyes, the planes of his face. She wanted to  
tell him everything, about the minidisc, about seeing  
Alex Krycek, about all of that. She always wanted to  
tell him because their relationship was built on that  
trust. She felt safe with him there. She wanted to  
tell him all of it and have him help her find the real  
truth, or at least to hold her hand like he always did  
when she was concerned and tell her it was all right  
to doubt, to be confused, to see dead people. After  
all, he was a straight arrow and if there was  
something wrong with the shooting, he would go after  
it, even if it was a friend involved. But considering  
the circumstances - and seeing the look in his eyes,  
hearing the sound of his voice when she'd suggested  
the possibility - she nixed the idea. It was just too  
much, she decided. Not until she knew what she was  
talking about. He'd be ready then. Ready to accept  
that his partner had been mysteriously approached by  
the supposedly dead man that had shot her? It might  
take a while, but ... She sighed.  
  
"Seriously..." he said after a moment, "is that it?"  
  
The words caught in her throat and she forced them  
down. "Yeah, that was it."  
  
"I know what you're going through," he said quietly.  
"You read the file on the soul eater? On how it..."   
  
"I read it several times," she said. "I don't  
understand it, John, but for what it's worth, I'm  
thankful that you're here." She abruptly turned to  
look at him, "You know that, right?"  
  
He smiled. "I know it." Then he let out a sigh. "I  
guess, sometimes, in this ... there is no explanation."  
  
She nodded, momentarily satisfied, and watched the  
oncoming road through the windshield. Sounds played at  
the back of her mind because she remembered. When the  
gun went off, she closed her eyes. The shot echoed in  
her mind for another few minutes until finally,  
mercifully, there was nothing but silence in her head.  
Silence and the open road leading home. Which were two  
things, she decided then, that she really needed.  
  
  
********  
  
  
"John, did you want a drink or something?" she offered  
later as she unlocked the door to her apartment. He'd  
walked her to the door, as he always did when she  
wasn't crashing at his place, and for some reason he  
checked his watch. "It's midnight," he said. She  
paused, almost bewildered by him, "And this differs  
from the dozens of times we've been up until two in  
the morning watching SportsCenter reruns how?" He  
smiled. "I guess you're right," he admitted, and  
followed her in, closing the door behind himself.  
  
Her apartment always looked neat, mostly because she  
was hardly ever there to change that. And despite that  
she was not the type of person to break things in  
anger. So she simply let him settle in on her couch  
and she walked to the fridge for two cans of beer,  
tossing him one. Her partner caught it easily. Stark,  
however, was already drinking slowly, letting the  
alcohol numb her frayed nerves, gathering the courage  
to say what she had to say. She swallowed and out came  
the words.  
  
"John ... Krycek's not dead."  
  
His head jerked up abruptly, and she looked into those  
blue eyes which were now filled with a startled  
disbelief and an old anger which still burned. "What  
are you talking about?" he asked her.  
  
"John..." she paused, crossing over to the couch, "I - I  
saw Alex Krycek tonight. In the parking garage. After  
I went down to my car." She forestalled any reply, "I  
don't know how it happened either. But it did happen.  
I can't deny what I saw."  
  
"How do you know?" he asked.  
  
She produced the minidisc and handed it to him. "He  
gave me this. He said it would tell me everything I  
needed to know."  
  
He looked down at the golden surface of the disc in  
his hand for a moment and then back up at her. "Stark,  
this guy tried to kill you. He tried to kill me. Why  
would he - what does he want?" He trusted her more  
than anyone else, and the proof was undeniable, but  
the echo of disbelief, denial, still rang in his  
voice.  
  
"I don't know." She shook her head. "I figured I'd  
call Byers in the morning and see if the Gunmen could  
look into it. Even I - I don't want to touch this  
stuff." She sighed, disparate. "But I'm in it now, for  
whatever reason. You're the first person I've told.  
But I thought you had to know." There was a pause. "I  
don't want this," she muttered.  
  
"Then don't take it," he insisted. "Walk away, say to  
hell with it. You always have a choice. There is  
always another way, right?"  
  
A small smile formed on her lips at his quotation of  
her famous phrase, but it quickly died there, replaced  
with uncertainty. "I should look into it, John," she  
replied. "If this has to do with anything we know  
about, anything we don't ... if this has to do with the  
shooting, if the shooting's not clean..."  
  
"They called it justifiable homicide," he interrupted  
and his voice had some edge to it, an insistence. She  
knew that kind of tone well. It was the same tone Mike  
Kellerman had possessed when asked if his shooting of  
Luther Mahoney was clean even though he knew it  
wasn't. Although John didn't pull the trigger with  
Krycek, he was still understandably defensive. "It was  
clean."  
  
"I don't *know* that," she cut him off irritably.  
"John ... I owe it to the truth to check this out. But  
mostly ... I owe it to myself. If you don't want to be a  
part of this, I understand. Just ... just let me do what  
I have to do, okay?" Stark let out a sigh and looked  
away from him then, letting the silence fill the gaps.  
  
John looked at her then. What she was saying was  
unbelievable, and that she wanted to chase it even  
more so. She didn't go on Spooky Mulder tangents. But  
neither had Scully, neither had Mulder himself in the  
beginning. Even Doggett himself was forced to admit  
things weren't as kosher as they had been in C.I.D.  
She wasn't paranoiac, not as Mulder had gotten. She  
was simply going on what she knew, what she saw, and  
was determined to find whatever answer was waiting for  
her. He was concerned about opening that whole  
situation again, but he was mostly concerned about  
her. She was his partner of almost seven years and  
she'd followed him through fire. He didn't want to  
lose her again. And not to some stupidly convoluted  
semi-death argument such as this was turning out to  
be.  
  
"Stark..." he started, reaching for her hand.  
  
She turned to face him then with a look on her face  
that said she would accept whatever decision he chose  
to make. "Yeah?" she said quietly.  
  
"Do what you have to do," he said simply.  
  
She nodded. "What about you?"  
  
"I don't know yet," he admitted. She looked  
crestfallen almost as if accepting the worst, and  
shifted. He knew that she expected that he would  
probably walk away, but he didn't. He reached for his  
hand. "No matter what becomes of ... this," he said  
quietly, "Partners don't leave partners."  
  
She nodded numbly. "I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have  
involved you."  
  
He shook his head. "Don't apologize. You're doing what  
your instincts are telling you to. What the precinct  
taught you to do. When I first came to the Bureau,  
when we were in C.I.D., I probably would have done the  
same thing."  
  
"And now?" she reluctantly inquired.  
  
"And now I'm lucky enough if I know a quarter of  
what's going on when I show up in the morning," he  
finished her statement for her. "I couldn't do this if  
I wanted to, Stark." He met her eyes then, and they  
demanded an explanation silently. "I was there. I was  
involved. I can't be impartial about all this. I threw  
down with Krycek and all of that. You didn't. You..."  
His breath caught in his throat, "You don't have those  
expectations. No one's wondering whose side you're on.  
You can investigate this and come away clean."  
  
"Can I?" she whispered. "Can I, really?"  
  
He bit his lip. "I don't know. But I'm willing to take  
that chance if you are."  
  
Stark smiled and reached for her beer, draining  
another swallow. "I appreciate that."  
  
"I owe it to you," he admitted. "Among other things."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Let's not talk about it, hmm?"  
she said, and handed him the television remote without  
further explanation.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
"Obviously I'm not here, which means I'm probably out  
chasing something, but use your imagination to fill in  
the blanks. Assuming I ever get a life, leave a  
message..."  
  
Stark answered the phone in the middle of her  
answering machine tape, having stumbled out from the  
bedroom at three in the morning to do so. "This better  
be good," she growled into the receiver as she turned  
on a light and winced at the brightness.  
  
"How is it you never manage to answer the phone before  
the machine when I call?" the familiar voice taunted  
and Stark rolled her eyes.   
  
"Maybe 'cause you seem to call when I'm in the middle  
of something, Mulder," she said but her demeanor  
quickly turned serious. Last time he had called, it  
had been about John, when he'd gone missing outside of  
Herman Stites' property. As a reflex, she looked over  
her shoulder back at the door of the second bedroom.  
He was standing in the darkness with a questioning  
look on his face, and she nodded to placate him.  
Apparently satisfied, he didn't say anything, and she  
went back to Mulder. "Talk to me. Is it about Agent  
Scully?"  
  
"Scully's fine," Mulder assured her. "No, this is  
about something entirely different. It's about Alex  
Krycek."  
  
Stark blinked and she sat down on the couch almost in  
disbelief. "What is it?" She briefly feigned  
innocence, "I thought he was dead."  
  
"Yeah, well, so did I," Mulder drawled sardonically,  
"but I've got information that points to otherwise."  
  
"From who? What?" she blurted.  
  
"I'd rather do this in person," he offered. "How soon  
can we meet?"  
  
"Well, unless you want to see me in my robe, I'll need  
at least fifteen minutes," she tried to quip but it  
sounded lame and dead.   
  
"And while I wouldn't mind," he joked, then stopped.  
"I'm with Scully over at her apartment. You know the  
place?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I've been there before," Stark said.  
"I'll see you in fifteen minutes, Mulder," she said,  
and abruptly hung up the phone, standing. She'd  
totally forgotten about John, and now felt his eyes on  
her. She looked up from the phone after a beat.  
  
"That was Mulder," she explained, "He wants to see me  
about Krycek."  
  
"You want me to come with you?" he offered.  
  
She thought about this for a moment, "Yeah. Yeah,  
John, I do." Then she met his eyes, met the concern  
and the conflict in them. "But only if you want to."  
  
He nodded. "You don't have to ask," he reminded her  
and she smiled briefly before she disappeared back  
into her bedroom, leaving him to stand there and shake  
his head at the events of the past few hours, of  
everything he'd seen and been told. "What have you  
gotten yourself into?" he whispered to her, but she  
wasn't there to hear, and only the silence replied. He  
finally rubbed tiredly at his eyes and turned back  
from where he'd come, hoping she wasn't finally in  
over her head, but wondering if she could be.  
  
  
*********  
  
  
Fox Mulder answered the door of Dana Scully's  
apartment some ten minutes later, letting in the two  
Special Agents, both dressed in casual clothes and  
faded jeans. "Come on in," he said needlessly, closing  
the door behind them, then he remarked, "Agent  
Doggett, I didn't expect to see you here." Doggett  
smirked. "Well, you know I tend to follow my partner  
around," he quipped sarcastically and Stark rolled her  
eyes as Mulder laughed.  
  
Scully sat in the chair near her couch, holding her  
sleeping son, and she looked up and smiled as they  
entered. "Agent Patrick, Agent Doggett," she greeted  
them as they sat on the couch.  
  
"Agent Scully," they both replied, almost in unison.  
Doggett added, "How's the baby?"  
  
"He's doing fine," she said, then changed her tone,  
"Much like Krycek, I've heard."  
  
"That's what we're here for," Stark said quietly as  
Mulder himself took a seat. All of the room's other  
occupants looked at him expectantly. He leaned  
forward, let a pause of silence break the ice, and  
began to speak.   
  
"About half an hour ago I received information from a  
source of mine who said Krycek may be alive. She  
claims to have seen him."  
  
"Who's the source?" Doggett inquired.  
  
"A woman you've probably heard of. Marita  
Covarrubias," Mulder explained. "She works at the U.N.  
and she's had some dealings with Krycek in the past."  
  
"Yeah, we've heard of her," Stark replied. "So she saw  
him?"  
  
"That's what she says," Mulder replies. "She was  
working late tonight and apparently he managed to get  
himself into the building and find her. Knowing  
Krycek, I'm not surprised. However," he spoke the last  
part slowly, "she says he also gave her a minidisc,  
and told her it would tell her everything she needed  
to know."  
  
Stark was momentarily startled, and she and John  
looked at each other, remembering those exact words  
and that disc. "Tell him, Stark," John prompted  
quietly, and Mulder glanced at her, surprised. "Is  
there something you know about this?" he asked of her.  
  
She nodded, then made solemn eye contact with him. "I  
was down in the parking garage tonight, and I - I saw  
Krycek. He handed me a minidisc and told me the exact  
same thing."  
  
Mulder and Scully were both surprised. "Do you have  
the disc?" Scully asked.  
  
Stark started to shake her head, but John produced it  
from his jacket. She looked at him questioningly, and  
he shrugged. "I had my suspicions," he said and she  
smiled. Mulder nodded. "Well, this just gets more  
interesting," he quipped, then glanced at Scully.  
"Scully, would you be okay without me for a while?"  
  
"Yeah, Mulder," Scully said, "Why?"  
  
"I'll call the Lone Gunmen and they can come over,"  
Mulder said, standing, as did everyone else. "I think  
that Agent Doggett and Agent Patrick and I should pay  
Marita a visit. Perhaps Ms. Covarrubias can explain  
what's going on tonight."  
  
"I hope she can," Stark said, "because I can't."  
  
"I don't think I want to," Mulder said firmly before  
heading for the phone, leaving everyone else to stand  
silent and second-guess all they'd experienced over  
the past days and wonder why it had all come to this.  
Finally Mulder put down the phone. "They'll be here in  
a few minutes," he explained to Scully, then fixed his  
glance on the other two. "Let's get ready to go," he  
suggested. "It's going to be a long night."  
  
Stark nodded and reached for John's hand, never taking  
her eyes off Mulder, feeling comfort when he squeezed  
firmly. "It can't be any longer than what I've already  
gone through," she said, "but you know what they say."  
  
"What?" Mulder said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
She tried to muster a smile. "The truth is out there."  
  
Mulder smiled. "Yeah, and so are a lot of other  
things, too, I've learned. But I don't think it's  
anything that we can't handle," he tried to reassure  
her. Inwardly, he wasn't so sure. But that was okay  
because inwardly, none of them were.  
  
  
********  
  
  
"Welcome to the U.N.," Mulder said quietly later when  
he drove the vehicle to a stop. Climbing out of the  
passenger and back seats respectively, Agents Doggett  
and Patrick circled around the vehicle and the trio  
started walking across the street toward the  
foreboding building. "I've been here before," Doggett  
informed Mulder, adding at the younger man's gaze, "I  
was with the Multi-National Peacekeeping Force.  
Lebanon Development."  
  
Mulder regarded Stark, "What about you?"  
  
"This is my first time," she said. "I was with  
Baltimore P.D."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry I can't give you the guided tour, but  
we've got other things to do," Mulder said as they  
reached the perimeter of the building's lot. Because  
it was early morning and the building was virtually  
empty, security was almost dead. A mere flash of  
badges at a lone guardpost got them in. They were  
rather relieved. They weren't in the mood for a fight.  
  
Doggett craned his neck to see the height of the  
building, "So where is Ms. Covarrubias anyway?"  
  
"In her office, fourteenth floor," Mulder said. "Let's  
not keep her waiting."  
  
"Good advice," was John's reply.  
  
The U.N. building was cold, dark and dead as they  
stepped inside, the door closing silently behind them.  
Since the elevators had been turned off hours before,  
Mulder directed them into the stairwell. In the  
process of climbing thirteen flights of stairs, they  
moved on in relative silence, not knowing what awaited  
them on that fourteenth floor. They were gripped with  
a variety of emotions ranging from fear to anger, all  
tempered with a healthy dose of tension. In the space  
of a few hours, there had been reasonable doubt and  
unreasonable sightings, a chain reaction of improbable  
events that all pointed to the conclusion that a man  
who should have been dead after being shot by one of  
their own in an act declared clean but that may not  
have been was suddenly alive and leaving mysterious  
minidiscs to female acquaintances. That was not the  
conclusion they wanted. They wanted the one which  
remained six feet underground, but they had no choice  
but to pursue the truth. And as they reached the  
fourteenth-floor stairwell, Stark wondered how Mulder  
dealt with it, the bitter feeling of moments like  
these. She didn't ask him and he pushed open the door,  
leading them out into the cold hallway where they  
filled their lungs with fear and exhaled.  
  
"Marita?" Mulder called. "It's me. It's Mulder."  
  
"Over here," came the reply, and they followed the  
voice to a barely lit office, where a blond woman sat  
numbly in a desk chair, a single desk lamp lighting  
the room, the light glinting off a minidisc similar to  
the one in Agent Doggett's jacket pocket. She glanced  
up as they entered, obviously of Russian or Ukrainian  
or somesuch other descent. Mulder introduced her as  
the Special Assistant to the Secretary General and  
watched as she suspiciously eyed his two companions.  
  
"Who are these two?" Covarrubias asked Mulder warily.  
  
"These are Special Agents Doggett and Patrick," Mulder  
explained. "They work with me on the X-Files. They've  
had some run-ins with Krycek themselves, as a matter  
of fact," he said, leaving the door open for either of  
them to explain the whole sordid affair.  
  
"I was..." Stark started. "He shot me. Before A.D.  
Skinner shot him, he shot me." Marita appeared not  
really surprised but not expectant either, and Stark  
continued. "Tonight ... this morning ... I saw him.  
According to what Agent Mulder's told me of what you  
told him, your encounter matches mine."  
  
"He gave you..." Marita began.  
  
"A minidisc," Doggett interrupted, producing the disc  
and letting her examine it until she was certain that  
it was exactly like the one sitting on her desk. After  
she'd handed it back to him, he added, "He told her  
that it would tell her everything she needed to know.  
Just like you."  
  
Covarrubias nodded. "What would you have me do?"  
  
"We were hoping you could shed some light on this,"  
Mulder began. "On how Krycek, who we'd thought dead  
until Agent Patrick saw him hours ago, is suddenly  
alive, and why he picked you, and why he picked her,  
and what's on those disks, and what he's talking  
about."  
  
"A couple of events and you expect I know all about  
him," she scoffed. "Contrary to that, Agent Mulder, I  
don't really know anything about this ... that's why I  
called you."  
  
"Is it?" Mulder started. "I think you know more than  
you're letting on."  
  
"Marita," Stark inserted softly, "If you know anything  
that can help me put this to rest, I'd ... I'd  
appreciate it."  
  
Covarrubias paused. "I have theories, but that's about  
it."  
  
"Why don't you start by telling them the rest of the  
story?" Mulder suggested. The U.N. agent nodded and  
shut the office door, sinking back into her chair as  
the three federal officers stood there expectantly,  
each mulling over different opinions, different ideas.  
There was a long silence until he prompted again,  
"Krycek found you, didn't he?"  
  
"Against all odds, yes." She chose her next words  
carefully. "About an hour ago. I was here ... and  
suddenly, so was Alex. I didn't notice him coming. I  
still believed that he was dead. But he was here. He  
explained to me, once he'd ignored all of my obvious  
questions, that he couldn't stay, but he handed me the  
disc and told me it would tell me all I needed to  
know. Before I could say anything else..." She searched  
for the phrase, "...he disappeared. Just as if he'd  
never been." Her eyes met those of the federal agents,  
who were soaking in the whole story. No one spoke. No  
one really had the words. Not at that moment.  
  
Stark finally threw up her hands. "I'm done," she  
said, and headed for the door. John called her name,  
but she walked out of the office into the hall. A  
heartbeat later Covarrubias followed on some unknown  
impulse, leaving the men to stand there and think  
about it all and try to put together the pieces.  
  
"Will she be okay?" Mulder asked, looking out the  
door, after both women had gone.  
  
Doggett's gaze followed Mulder's. "That depends," he  
said quietly, "on where this ends. Right now, this  
moment? I don't know."  
  
Mulder glanced at him then, entirely surprised. He  
knew the implications which followed with that  
statement. And they frightened him more than anything  
else.  
  
  
********  
  
  
The two women stood alone in the open space at the end  
of the hall opposite from the stairwell. Stark leaned  
her weight against the wall with a disparate sigh.  
Covarrubias observed her, as she had from the  
beginning. She was a fairly accurate observer of body  
language, and she had noted in Mulder's two companions  
a true synergy. Perhaps, as someone had once said, no  
one gets there alone. No one - including Alex Krycek,  
if that was to be the case.  
  
"Alex shot you?" she said quietly.  
  
The special agent nodded. "In the parking garage after  
we'd sent Agent Scully on her way. He said something  
about me not being ready. How I was a liability to her  
because I wasn't ready. And he shot me. And John shot  
him back. I don't know the rest of it, but A.D.  
Skinner shot him in the parking garage a little while  
after that. He took four bullets in less than  
twenty-four hours, including at least one to the head.  
By all accounts he should be dead, and..."  
  
"Instead he comes looking for us," Covarrubias  
finished. She paused. "I can understand why he would  
come looking for me. We've worked together in the  
past. But why he would come after you ... guilt? I don't  
understand it," she said.  
  
Stark looked up. "I don't," she said. "He said  
something about how I chose not to believe all the  
stories ... all the facts ... that everyone else had told  
me. And he apologized, and that was ... that was it. I  
don't know what he expects me ... expects us ... to do.  
But I think it has something to do with his shooting.  
With A.D. Skinner. As if he wants the two of us to  
look at it again."  
  
Covarrubias nodded. "He and Skinner were consistently  
at odds."  
  
"I noticed," Stark replied.  
  
The U.N. agent shook her head. "Not in the fashion  
you're thinking of. You're right, but this is  
something different. A.D. Skinner has nanotechnology  
probes in his blood. Alex had ... has ... a Palm Pilot in  
his possession which controls them. Therefore, with  
that device, he literally controls the Assistant  
Director's life in his hands. And he knows it."  
  
"Christ," the younger woman swore. "I read the files,  
but..."  
  
"It wasn't in the files. Understandably," corrected  
Covarrubias.  
  
"Kersh would have locked him down," the special agent  
drew the necessary conclusions. "And hell, I don't  
know what Exstead would, or will, or whatever ... what  
she'll make of it. If she knows." She let out a sigh.  
"Somehow, we're both weapons in this thing. And I want  
to know why."  
  
"If you ever find out, that's an accomplishment in  
itself," Covarrubias said calmly. It was a common  
statement of fact, nothing more, nothing less. Stark  
nodded in a grim acceptance. She looked down the hall  
and noticed that the two men seemed to be finished  
with their own business, then she locked eyes with  
Covarrubias. "Marita," she said, "in case something  
happens..."  
  
The U.N. agent handed her a card and she slipped it  
into her pocket. "If anything happens," she said,  
"Agent Mulder has my number."  
  
Covarrubias nodded. "I don't really have anything to  
say, Agent Patrick."  
  
Stark stood from the wall. "Except an old Egyptian  
blessing."  
  
"May the grace of God be with you in all the empty  
places where you must walk," Covarrubias repeated,  
watching Stark walk away into the darkness of the  
hall, and then, much like Krycek, simply disappear.  
  
  
********  
  
  
They were back in the car and on the road later,  
sitting in the silence once again, mulling over what  
Marita Covarrubias had told them for the second and  
third time, frustrated because the answers weren't  
there but worn down by the suddenness of the whole  
damn affair. John looked over his shoulder at Stark,  
who appeared increasingly distant in the backseat. "We  
were thinking," he said slowly, "about going back to  
Scully's place and having the Gunmen take a look at  
the disc."  
  
She nodded. "Go ahead and drop me off." Then she added  
with a small smile, "I hope you don't mind that I'm  
not going to wait up for you."  
  
"Not at all." Ordinarily the exchange would have been  
funny, but it was now weak and dead, much like the  
mood of the rest of the evening, and he turned back to  
the road and she watched it from the window until she  
finally closed her eyes and hoped it was all a dream.  
She'd done that before, on her first few X-Files, or  
whenever things got out of hand. But she had never  
meant it more than she did that moment.  
  
  
********  
  
  
Once Mulder and Doggett had dropped her at her  
apartment, Stark didn't even bother to change clothes  
again. She simply locked the door (he did have a key,  
after all) and went back to bed, pulling the covers  
tight around her and trying to get much needed sleep  
when she was supposed to be at work in less than two  
hours.  
  
Half an hour later, she awoke to a sound. "John?" she  
said, but there was no answer. Stark reached over and  
turned on her nightstand lamp, squinting with the  
brightness but quickly adjusting as she sat up in bed  
to find out if it was just the kitchen faucet again or  
if it was something more.  
  
"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, backing up and  
reaching for her service weapon in the nightstand  
drawer. She had it out and aimed, but for no real  
reason. Anyway, she supposed, if Krycek was going to  
kill her (or try to again), he would have done it by  
now and she shouldn't have noticed. She lowered the  
gun but did not let go. "I know I don't see dead  
people," she said, "so why don't you tell me what the  
hell is going on?"  
  
He reached over and brushed her arm with his  
fingertips. "I think that should prove you're not  
seeing anything," he said simply. She shook her head  
in abject disbelief. "What, now that John's not around  
and you've already scared the hell out of Marita  
Covarrubias, you figured you'd just torment me again?"  
she insisted, her voice taking on an edge. She really  
didn't like being lead on or screwed over, and he was  
doing both. He simply smirked. "Did you have a chance  
to look at the disc yet?" he inquired of her as if  
they were old friends making small talk rather than a  
federal agent and a triple agent confined by wrong  
place, wrong time.  
  
"It's in safe hands," she said, and he nodded. "I'd  
heard you spoke with Marita. I wanted to make sure  
that you were still alive."  
  
"What?" she exclaimed. "There wasn't any threat."  
  
"Not that you saw," he explained, "but anyone I told  
is a target. The knowledge that I'm alive is a  
dangerous thing when it's an unclean shooting. And  
there are always people watching me," he added evenly.  
  
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I can't take this,  
Krycek. Being lead around with your cryptic  
doublespeak crap and middle of the night escapades and  
this ... whatever. You breaking into my apartment, into  
my bedroom, is just ... is it. I didn't ask for this."  
  
"Who am I supposed to turn to?" he asked. "Your  
partner is right. You are the only person who wasn't  
involved. You are the only person concerned with  
ethics. You'll understand what is wrong with that  
shooting. And you'll put it to justice. You have to."  
  
"You're telling me I have to put Skinner down," she  
said slowly, "after you've been screwing him over with  
the Palm Pilot."  
  
Krycek shook his head. "Not Skinner. Other people who,  
unbeknownst to the Assistant Director, forced him into  
making that choice. You think I really wanted that? If  
I'd wanted to kill Mulder, I would have killed him,  
not stood there for five minutes..."  
  
"You wanted Skinner to kill you." She stared  
incredulously.  
  
"All lies lead to the truth," he said.  
  
In the other room, the sound of the door unlocking was  
clearly audible. Stark held Krycek's gaze. "Unless you  
want my partner to fillet you," she growled, "you  
should get the hell out of here." When he appeared  
unconvinced, she added, "I'm giving you the benefit of  
the doubt, Krycek. Don't make me regret it."  
  
By the time she heard John step through the front  
door, she looked back and Krycek was gone. As Marita  
had told her, it was as if he had just disappeared.  
She put the gun away and exhaled a sigh of relief.  
Maybe, no, probably, she told herself, it would be  
better for everyone if he really did disappear.  
  
Her bedroom door slid quietly open and she looked up  
to see John standing in the doorway. "I'm guessing you  
didn't manage to get any sleep while I was gone," he  
commented. His eyes were sober with his concern and  
she felt placated by his presence, if not comfortable.  
But, she doubted then, she wouldn't be comfortable  
again. Not tonight, not for a while, not with this on  
her hands.  
  
She looked out the window, at the stars, and thought  
of Alex Krycek and everything that had just happened  
and the whole big picture. "No," she said simply,  
"It's just not my night."  
  
He smiled thinly, "That's an understatement."  
  
"And a hell of one," she whispered, having no other  
words to say.  
  
His voice was quiet. "You wanna talk about it?" he  
offered.  
  
Stark shook her head almost imperceptibly, still  
looking out at the night as if it would suddenly  
reveal all the answers. He felt her desperation. He  
had been there once, many times, and he was there  
again, this night, with her. He doubted it would be  
the last time they would walk this road. This road, as  
in the song, was a lifetime long.  
  
His gentle calling of her name brought her back to  
reality. "Stark."  
  
"I'm fine," she whispered, only after that at last  
tearing her eyes away from the window to make eye  
contact with him.  
  
He nodded. "I know, and I'm right here."  
  
She smiled for the first time all night, a small,  
brief smile. "I know."  
  
John Doggett returned the gesture. "Okay," he said  
quietly, and together, they gazed out at the  
Washington night through her bedroom window, wondering  
if at all it was possible to change the stars.  
  
Here I am again  
Overwhelming feelings  
Part of me is here  
Miles that stand between  
You can't separate  
All I am begins with you  
Half of me breathes in you  
Here we are again  
Saying goodbye  
When I close my eyes  
Entwined, you and I  
Still we'll fall asleep underneath the sad sky  
Thoughts of hope understood...  
- The Nixons, "Sister"  
  
  
=====  
"Oh, for God's sake, please be somebody else."  
- Lewis Black  
Natalie: Two guys have ascended 5 miles into the sky. They walked up a wall of ice and are preparing to knock on the door of heaven itself. There's really no end to what we can do. You know what the trick is?   
Dan: What?   
Natalie: Get in the game!   
- "The Quality of Mercy at 29K", "Sports Night" 


End file.
